


What Man Knows Not

by s-o-l-d-a-t (starsandsnipesforever), writingramblr



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Happy Credence Barebone, Hurt Original Percival Graves, M/M, Mute!Credence, Nymphs & Dryads, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Purple Prose, dryad credence, fallen soldier graves, graves pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 04:12:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10609041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandsnipesforever/pseuds/s-o-l-d-a-t, https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: Graves is wounded in battle beyond what any medic can hope to heal, so he staggers away to die beneath the dripping green grasp of a willow tree.Luckily, he's found an inch from death by an ethereal creature who spares his life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> literally all i did was piggyback my dreamy-smut-prose on the lovely prompt here.

* * *

 

No sounds met him beyond the heavy stomps of his boots into the forest floor and the pained grunts slipping from his lips. Percival layered his palms over one another, applying pressure to the ache in his gut which insisted on spewing blood over the back of his hands. Of all the vastness of trees flourishing through the forest, it was a single one off on its own that he fell to. Not only was it oddly isolated from the rest, but its branches seemed to feebly droop as though mourning. Percival only caught a glimpse before he rolled over and settled against its thick roots, a low groan cracking from his throat as his hands pressed into the sharp throb branching through his abdomen.

He closed his eyes, exhaling a shuddering breath. When he was a boy, he remembered stories of this forest about dryads that inhabited the trees. Beautiful, elegant creatures that were as lovely as they were lethal. If they felt their sanctuary threatened, they would not hesitate to defend it forcefully. Another warm gush of blood spurt through his fingers as coughs wracked through his body, tainting his tongue with the bitter taste of copper. Percival sputtered and gasped, and he could not help but think that he wouldn’t mind if one showed up to finish him off right then.

Death never came for him. Instead, the gentlest brush of fingers on the back of his hand had his eyes fluttering open. Full, beautiful brown eyes greeted him, complimented with seamlessly contoured cheekbones and rich pink lips. Dark curls tumbled all about his face, decorated with leaves and flecks of green. Words failed him, as did breathing, and Percival made no moves to resist the gentle hands that curled around his own and removed them. The creature draped their hand over the bloody gash, and a soothing warmth spread through his belly, washing away the pain.

* * *

The hand over his wound didn’t hurt more, the heat spreading from his stomach only gentled, and petered out, until he looked down and realized the bleeding had stopped, indeed, the crimson seeping between his fingers and soaking his uniform was gone. Siphoned away, revealing unblemished skin, and only the rip in his jacket to give any indication he’d been shot at all.

“Th-thank you.”

The creature hovering over him moved back, as if startled by his voice, but a smile seemed to quirk at their lips, pink and plush, in stark contrast to their pale skin and the hints of green like smudges of grass or tree leaves. 

The dark curls that framed their face had specks of gold amongst the brown, and the eyes were almost the same, liquid and endless, with bright shimmers around the long lashes.

They didn’t speak, but merely continued to stare at him, and even without his having gotten so close to death and come back, he knew he probably looked horrific. 

Blood was still smeared on his face and dirt probably would never completely come out from under his nails, as he’d only had his hands to escape from the trenches, and then his legs had failed him as soon he’d spotted the tree which he thought he would die beneath.

“Forgive me, I don’t mean to trespass on your, uh, home.”

If indeed the tree belonged to the creature before him, he knew he was probably going to have to move away soon, lest he defile it with his blood, or merely his presence.

But the dryad was shaking its head, putting a delicate long fingered hand to its lips, drawing his attention then to the rest of its form. It was very human in appearance, except for the green vines that seemed to cling to it, much like tattoos having come to life, and traces of gold along where veins would be on a person’s inner arm.

Besides those splashes of color, they are naked. 

His throat closes up, and his mouth goes dry, as he does the unthinkable and steals a glance up those long legs, finding smooth skin continuing, no hair to hide behind, not like the mane of brown licking down to their nipples. 

No. 

Perfectly formed genitals in repose, and instead of being embarrassed for looking or even ogling the dryad, for after all, they can be known for their beauty, he finds himself wanting to offer himself over, as payment for his life being saved, he would be theirs. 

If they’ll have him.

How to go about putting words to such a thing? Perhaps they have a queen or king already? Or humans are repulsive to them?

He has never felt such a sharp need to be needed rise to life inside of him in his entire life. 

The gentle hand touches him again, this time caressing his face, and to his surprise, he feels the blood and dirt vanishing beneath soft fingertips, and now, now there are eyes wide with curiosity meeting his, a tongue slipping out to wet those pink lips, and their eyes drop to his own, as he unconsciously mimics the move.

He aches, he burns, he wants to touch back as much and more as he’s being held.

“Water? Please?”

Things all mortals and immortals must have, sustenance. He only hopes he can provide something of the sort, in exchange for their magic they’ve gifted him with.

When urged to his feet, he follows, leaving his rifle behind, gladly so, and his bare feet pad softly on the leaves of the forest floor, second to the creature, as they almost float over the ground.

He blinks once, and then a tree hollows inward, like a door has been opened, and the bewitching creature beckons silently, so he continues, until he can only stare. The world he’s left behind in the forest was still his own, mostly, but now, he finds himself somewhere else entirely. 

Green and gold lights the sky above him, and the rush of clear water fills his ears, a bubbling brook and stream and fish swimming with purpose inside it. He falls to his knees, grateful for clean hands as he dips a cupped palm into the cold crisp wetness, and brings it to his mouth without thinking. 

Devouring food and drink in the fae realm traps him there, does it not? He decides it doesn’t matter.

Bright green and white flashes in front of him, before a pale hand slinks out and catches it. It’s a luna moth, and it’s perched atop the dryad’s hand, flapping slowly, then settling, as if willing to nap there, right there.

“You have impressive magic, little one.”

He manages to croak out, and the dryad looks up to ensnare his gaze once more in those gold and brown orbs.

If not for their precious cargo, he thinks he might have kissed them.

As it was, exhaustion started to claim him, and the soft moss that frames the stream doesn’t really help him fight it, as he begins to lay down, first by leaning on his healed side, then only propped up with an elbow, he sees the creature shifting positions, crossing the stream to lie opposite him on the other shoreline, still holding the moth.

“Forgive me.” Are the last words he gets out before his eyelids close of their own accord, and he’s pressing his cheek against the pillowy ground, letting oblivion claim him.

* * *

 

It had been years since anyone ever touched him as he slept, a soft caress of fingers over his forehead, carding through his hair, soothing gestures meant to help him fall asleep or stay that way, but he’s so unused to it that it wakes him now.

Graves comes to and finds the lovely dryad sitting with him, cradling his head in their lap, his cheek now resting against a pale bare thigh, and he’s facing their stomach. It takes little effort to look down and stare at the unhidden cock that’s the only way he dares call them a ‘he.’

“Um.”

He swallows and the hand freezes, halfway through a stroke to his hair.

“Thank you.”

They hum, and it’s a tone that seems to say that’s unnecessary.

Perhaps they’re unaware how alluring they are. 

Maybe he needs to show them. 

He sits up slowly, and blessedly, they don’t run, or hide, merely watch him, wide eyed, as he crawls back closer, keeping his own hands to himself, but leaning in until there’s barely an inch separating their mouths, when he sees the dryad’s eyes flicker down to his lips, he knows there’s a good chance he won’t be killed for it.

The kiss starts off slow, and innocent, a simple press of lips, no obscene wetness of saliva or tongues, until Graves uses his own, and tastes just the seam of the creature’s mouth, and it’s a heady sensation, as if one could drink from sunshine. 

He breathes through his nose, and nudges in further, deepening the kiss the instant he realizes he needs more, still not touching with his hands, but there are tentative fingers grasping at his open shirt halves, as the dryad shivers against him, he smiles.

“Like that?”

He more whispers than asks, and there’s a tiny nod in return. Finally, finally, he brings his hands forward, slow, careful, to graze a bare hip, warmth bleeding into his palm, and the other to the dryad’s cheek, before slipping back to curl his fingers into that silky dark mane.

Now he’s kneeling, almost looming over them, but they let him, they allow it, yielding when he starts to shuffle forward, and they melt back onto the moss, so that he can break the kiss to follow.

“This okay?”

He slots a knee between their legs, and then sinks down, only bracing his arms at the sides of their head, seeing how they bit that bottom lip and nod.

He gives a tentative roll of his hips over their own, and they arch into him, hands flying to touch his shirt again, before summarily ripping it off of him, in one swift move betraying their hidden strength. He’s aroused and mildly terrified, but then they kiss him again, and he’s now the one melting.

A leg wraps around his side, and just as quick, his uniform pants are shredded, falling away, leaving him bare and exposed as he groans and ruts closer, feeling that lovely cock start to harden against his own aching length.

They’re humming again, into the kiss, and then as they break it, to put more kisses to his skin, his jaw, his neck, arms bracing around his shoulders, taking him aback with the sudden affection.

Surely he isn’t the first human to stumble into the forest and become enchanted by such beauty? 

Then a hand wraps around his cock and he’s unable to speculate, to wonder, to do anything but squeeze his eyes shut and gasp, mindlessly thrusting against the silky skin of their palm.

“If you don’t stop I’m going to-”  
Teeth nibble at his collarbone, a sweet and yet possessive gesture, while a twist of the delicate wrist brings him off, shaking over top the creature as he paints their stomach with his release. 

Another hum, and they arch into him again, both legs now braced around his waist, and their head falls back against the ground, neck exposed, a pale column of skin that begs to be marked. 

Graves won’t deny it, he wants to prove to them he can do more than mindlessly grind against a beautiful body, so he nudges back, shifting down the length of that slender form, scattering kisses on the peach bud of a nipple, and then swirling his tongue to clean off his drying come from the concave stomach, before he’s almost rubbing his cheek against the hard length curving against their hip.

“Please, let me.”

He puts a hand on one thigh, and then his other at the base, to guide their length into his mouth. It’s been years since he’s done that, and he didn’t exactly think of himself as a connoisseur, but his fellow barracks mate had never complained. If he thought their kisses were sweet, the dryad’s slick pre is even more so, like the nectar of an otherworldly flower. 

He moans shamelessly as he swallows around the head, and takes it as deep as he can without need to be embarrassed, and the hand that was so gentle in his hair before returns, firmer, and pushing him closer. 

He’d smile if he could.

Instead he pulls back and strokes with his hand, before dipping in again, taking their cock to the root, so that his nose nudges against smooth skin, where some smattering of hair would be normally, and the smell of rain washed earth fills his senses, as his taste buds sing. 

They’re close, he can tell by the way their thighs twitch under his palm, and their breathing catches with every swipe of his tongue on the underside.

He can’t tell them to come, but he can beg with his eyes. They’re watching him now, hand in his hair almost painful, and he doesn’t blink, not until it hurts and he has to, feeling their body tremble beneath him, hips thrusting minutely as they spill down his throat, and warmth spreads throughout his body, getting him half hard in an instant.

When he finally pulls back for good, their softening length leaving his mouth, almost reluctantly, he wipes off the back of his mouth with his hand, and feels theirs leave his hair to curl under his chin, and the sound of tinkling bells echoes around the glen.

No.

It’s their voice.

“What?”

He gasps, voice hoarse, throat a bit sore.

“You have proven yourself truly worthy.”

God, they sound like angels ought to.

“You can talk?”

The dryad smiles,

“Only for some. Most would not be so selfless, and serving as you. They drink of the stream, and then return to taking.”

Graves blinks, and within a moment, the dryad has stood, lifting him along with them, and the air seems to hum with promise.

“You healed me. I owe you my life.”

The dryad pets his cheek,

“I know. But you didn’t have to stay. You chose to. You didn’t take advantage of my hospitality. I trusted you, when you were over me.”

Graves suddenly realizes what they’re saying, and his cheeks heat.

“Oh. I wouldn’t dare to presume I deserved such a thing, much less how to ask, if you would not speak to me.”

“Most do. Tell me soldier, would you take it if offered? Would you stay, and be my prince?”

Graves nodded at once.

“So sure?”

“There’s nothing back there for me, in a world where I’m thought dead.”

“No family? No friends?”

Graves shrugged,

“I’m not really a… people person. I’m too intimidating.”

The creature laughed, a high and lovely tinkling, wind chimes almost.

“Not so. Tell me your name, please.”

“Graves… Percival Graves.”

The dryad stepped in close again, and Graves had a hard time breathing suddenly,

“Fitting that. I am called Credence.”

Graves blinked,

“That’s very, uh, human sounding.”

The creature, Credence, smiled again, and Graves’ knees threatened to give out.

“It changes every so often. Now, are you hungry, my prince? It’s been several days since you last ate.”

“What about uh, this?”

He gestured vaguely to their state of undress, and Credence merely tilted his head,

“Does it bother you?”

“No, I guess not. It’s just a bit, distracting.”

A hand curled around his hip, sending shivers down his spine.

“Perhaps I should take care of that for you.”

The mental quandary of being aroused by a lovely creature comfortable with full nudity, or his hard cock, Graves wasn’t sure.

As it happened, he didn’t have to wonder for long, when the dryad fell to their knees, and barely touched him with their lips, before he was coming again, and bracing himself from falling by gripping their deceptively weak looking shoulders.

“There. Now, sustenance.”

* * *

 

 


End file.
